All We Are
by Jordan Trevor
Summary: "All we are is all we have." Sometimes, it has to be enough because where they were now was a long way from where they'd been. And where they'd been was only a split second away from normal.
1. Chapter 1

**All We Are**

**Author's Note: **I usually write _Star Trek Voyager_, but _NCIS _has been tugging at me lately. This story isn't finished yet, so read at your own risk! To be honest, I'm not sure where it's going – but it must be going somewhere because it keeps pulling…

The door swung open, and there was Gibbs, one hand on the door and the other clutching the surrounding wooden frame. He was out of breath and the front of his shirt was soaked with water. "Hey, I couldn't get here. Tony's in the bath. Come on in." He moved back, letting Ziva and Tim step into the entry area.

"We are probably too early," Ziva said, even though she knew they weren't.

"No. You're fine. We're just...running behind. Ducky and Abby should be here any minute. Just...make yourselves at home. There's beer in the fridge, and food, and-"

"Hi, guys."

Gibbs froze at the voice behind him, and even before he turned around, he knew by the look on Ziva's face, and her quickly averted gaze, that Tony was standing there - he turned and looked - completely naked. "Tony. Bathroom. Now." His voice was firm.

The expression on Tony's face fell immediately. "Just came to say hi." And just as suddenly, he brightened again. "Hi, Tim. Hi, Ziva."

Tim nodded his head. "It's good to see you, Tony." He ignored the elbow Ziva dug into his side.

"Come on." Gibbs tightened a firm hand on Tony's shoulder and turned him back toward the hallway. "You're dripping all over the floor."

The sound of Tony's wet feet slapping down the hall and his plaintive declaration of being cold caused Ziva to lose it, and she laughed out loud.

Tim looked at her. "I guess there's more to Tony than meets the eye."

Ziva tried to control her laughter. "And probably even more if he were not cold."

"Now that's just cruel," Tim started, but he couldn't hold back the grin on his face.

Ziva just smiled and headed for the kitchen in search of paper towels to mop up the small puddle of escaped bath water.

~vVv~

"Tony, ya' can't do that."

Tony hung his head, realizing that Boss wasn't smiling. Not even his voice was smiling. That meant he'd really done something bad.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not looking up. He scrunched his toes in the damp bath mat, studying the imprints left behind by his feet. Big feet, Boss always said. Bigger than Boss's. "I just wanted to see Ziva and Tim."

"I know." Gibbs took a towel and began to dry Tony's body. "But you can't go running around the house without clothes."

"I got the towels," Tony reminded him.

And Gibbs sighed. He was right. Before his bath, he'd sent him to the laundry room to get the stack of clean towels off the dryer. Tony had already undressed, but Gibbs was busy filling the bath, regulating the water temperature, and trying to keep Tony from adding too many bath toys and bubbles. And so, he'd killed two birds with one stone - he'd sent a naked Tony to get fresh towels and he'd gotten a chance to prepare Tony's bath without him.

"You're right. You did. But that's different."

Tony blinked. "Why?"

"Because...we were the only ones here. And...you're a guy, and I'm a guy, and-"

"Tim's a guy."

"That's right." Gibbs latched on to Tony's reasoning. "And Ziva's not. Ziva's a girl."

"But you always say that Ziva's just one of the guys."

"Well, she's not… really." Gibbs threw the damp towel over the top of the shower bar to dry, and he grabbed Tony's arm, pulling him out the door and down the hall to his bedroom.

"Boss, I don't got no clothes on," Tony giggled, realizing that he was again walking through the house naked.

And Gibbs couldn't help but grin at Tony's observation and the irony of the situation. He stopped in the open door of Tony's bedroom. "But there's no one in the hall but just us guys, and you're about to get dressed." He dropped his hand from Tony's arm and gave him a gentle push into the room. "You're clothes are laid out on your bed. You call for me if you need any help."

"Don't need help, Boss," Tony assured him. "I can even tie my shoes now."

Gibbs leaned against the wall and sighed. "I know, Buddy. I know."

And he did know. Tying his shoelaces had been the greatest accomplishment of the week, and Tony's shoes were off more than they were on just so he could show Gibbs how he could tie. He suspected that a demonstration of his tying techniques would be the highlight of their evening. Ducky and Tim might actually find it interesting.

~vVv~

"See, ya' make two ears, and ya' loop this piece around and push it through here and then… pull." Tony tightened the laces and stuck his foot out farther for his audience to see.

"Very good, Anthony," Ducky smiled, reaching down and patting Tony on the shoulder. "You've been learning a lot lately."

Tony nodded his head. "Yeah." He looked up at Gibbs who was standing in front of the grill on the opposite side of the deck. "Boss said he was proud of me."

"He has reason to be. Tying shoes is not an easy task. I remember once when-"

"I been workin' on my writing, too," Tony interrupted.

"He's got your number, Duck," Gibbs called over his shoulder. "I don't think he's forgotten your stories. Tony, it's rude to interrupt Ducky when he's talking. What do you say?"

Tony ducked his head in embarrassment. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Oh, that's quite all right, Anthony. It wasn't a very interesting story anyway. I'd much rather hear about your writing."

The bowed head bobbed up quickly and Tony continued where he'd left off. "I can write my name and Boss's name. All five of 'em."

"Five?" Tim questioned catching the last bit of the conversation as he came out onto the deck carrying a large bowl of salad.

"Um-um," Tony hummed, scrabbling to his feet and following Tim to the table, peering over his arm into the bowl. "Tony, Boss, Leroy, Jethro, Gibbs."

"I suppose DiNozzo has too many z's," Tim grinned.

"It does when he writes it," Gibbs agreed.

Tony didn't seem to notice the good-natured teasing. Instead he was busy poking his finger into the salad, pushing the cherry tomatoes to one side. "Don't like those red things. Boss doesn't put 'em in our salads, do ya' Boss?"

"Well, I think Ziva and Abby like them," Tim explained.

"And you don't have to eat them, Tony, but keep your fingers out of the bowl," Gibbs reprimanded him lightly.

"You do not like cherry tomatoes, Tony?" Ziva asked as she joined them, setting another bowl of potato salad on the table.

Abby followed her with a pitcher of iced tea. "Cherry tomatoes are awesome, Tony. You just have to give 'em a try."

Tony shook his head. "I like cherries, but not… to-tomatoes."

"Well, I will eat the tomatoes," Ziva promised, "and you do not have to have any."

"Good, cuz' I don't want none."

"Don't want any, Anthony," Ducky corrected, walking over and taking a seat at the table.

"You don't want none either?"

Ducky sighed in exasperation. "Really, Jethro, you must work with him more on his English."

"That's why we've got you," Gibbs said joining them at the table with a platter of grilled chicken in his hands. Ziva cleared a place in the center of the table, and he set the platter down. "I don't want no cherry tomatoes either," he grinned.

Tim, Ziva, and Abby laughed, and Tony joined in, which made Gibbs laugh, something he rarely did, and Ducky was awfully glad that Ziva had put tomatoes in the salad.

~vVv~


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** As much as I like Senior, both of Tony's parents are deceased in the world of this story. However, Jenny Shepard is alive and may be making an appearance soon.

Ducky called them "the children" sometimes, and now, more than ever, that's what they seemed to be. He and Gibbs were leaning back in the deck chairs watching as the four of them roamed about the backyard trying to catch fireflies in the fading evening light. Oh, three of them would claim that they were doing it for Tony, but they were enjoying themselves. Tim held an empty mayonnaise jar in his hands, and every bug they caught was carefully deposited inside. Earlier, Tony had watched with rapt fascination as Gibbs and made holes in the lid with his knife. "So they can breathe," Tony had explained to Ziva, Abby, and Tim.

"They're good with him," Gibbs observed not for the first time.

"Did you ever think they wouldn't be?"

"Wasn't really worried about McGee and Abby. He's had practice being a big brother, and Abby's still a big kid herself. But I wasn't sure about Ziva."

"She doesn't always handle people's weaknesses, does she?" Ducky surmised.

Gibbs shook his head. "Usually takes advantage of them."

Ducky was silent for a moment. "I was a bit worried about you at first."

"Me?" Gibbs tried to sound surprised, but he wasn't really. Hell, he'd been worried about himself - worried about the whole damn situation.

"Taking on Anthony is much like taking responsibility for a child," Ducky continued. "I was concerned that… paternal feelings might make you dwell upon thoughts of… Kelly."

Gibbs sighed and took another long pull on his beer. He couldn't deny Ducky's concerns. "You're getting a little too good at that psychological profiling stuff."

Ducky reached over and placed a hand on Gibbs' arm. "Tell me if I'm overstepping."

"No… you're not. But I'm all right. We're… all right." He smiled, watching Tony cup his hands carefully around the top of the jar as Tim helped him transfer his catch. "It is a bit like being a father again in kind of a weird, six-foot sort of way."

"He depends on you."

"I know that, Duck."

"And he loves you. Very much."

"I know that, too."

At that moment, Tony came running across the lawn, holding the jar in front of him. He fell to his knees in front of Gibbs. "Look, Boss, we caught 'em all."

Gibbs took the jar from his hands and balanced it on the arm of the chair.

"Well, not all of them, Tony," Abby said, sitting down on the edge of the deck behind him.

Tony twisted around to sit beside her. "Well, a whole lot of 'em we did catch," he persisted.

Gibbs reached out and ran his fingers over the back of Tony's head, carding gently through soft, brown hair. "Goes both ways, Duck."

Ducky smiled and patted the arm that was still beneath his hand. "I know, Jethro. I know."

~vVv~

Where they were now was a long way from where they'd been. And where they'd been was only a split second away from normal.

Tony had been driving, and Tim was riding shotgun when the truck forced them off the road. Tim walked away with a broken left arm, and Tony came out of a coma two weeks later with brain damage. During the next month, he had healed physically, except for a slight limp when he was tired, but mentally and emotionally he was about seven.

There were hospitals, his doctors said. Places where he could go that would take care of him, rehabilitate him. Gibbs remembered those conversations like they were trying to sell him on the six-million-dollar man project. They would make him stronger; only no one ever promised to make him better. And they could call them hospitals or centers or whatever the hell they wanted, but Gibbs knew they all spelled "institution." And he wasn't about to let Tony go there.

And so he took him home. Tony's parents were both deceased, and there wasn't really any family left, not close family. "We're the closest thing he's got," Ducky pronounced one afternoon while Tony was still in the hospital. "And I have a very large, very empty house now that Mother is gone."

"Mine's been empty for a long time, too, Duck," Gibbs simply stated. And so it was decided, for although Donald Mallard was everyone's beloved "Ducky," Leroy Jethro Gibbs was "Boss."

That was a month ago. Tony did go to a "centre" during the day; the fancy British spelling didn't totally change what it was, but he came home with Gibbs at night. And that did change Gibbs' perspective on Tony's rehabilitation. "Going to school," as Tony called it, was his job now, and on most days he seemed to enjoy it. Ducky said that in some ways Tony was lucky; his brain damage wasn't severe enough to leave him incapacitated, but it was enough that he didn't really remember his former life - thus, there was no depression to deal with, no awareness of what he'd lost. That awareness belonged only to those who loved him. And the sad irony wasn't lost on any of them. Tony, who had always been somewhat of a kid at heart, was now a child in almost every sense of the word.

And that made "Boss" pretty much synonymous with "Dad."

~vVv~


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for reading! I really appreciate the reviews!

"It's late, Tony," Tim said as he unwrapped the fingers from his arm.

"One more game," Tony begged, trying unsuccessfully to pull him back toward the kitchen table where they had spent the latter part of their evening playing _Operation_.

"Nope, I've extracted my last bone," he insisted.

"As have I," Ziva added.

"And I must admit, Anthony, that the game seems a bit too much like work for me," Ducky smiled as he placed his hat atop his head. "And morning will be here before you know it, and I shall have to report to work."

"Say goodnight, Tony," Gibbs instructed, opening the front door for their guests.

Tony's lower lip pushed out a bit, and his arms crossed over his chest.

With one hand holding the door, Gibbs reached over with the other and rubbed Tony's shoulders. "Tony…"

"All right," he sighed, and then allowed a small smile to creep over his face. Nothing kept him down for long. "But you guys'll come back real soon, right?"

"Of course, we will, Anthony. I still have several stories to tell you. For instance, there was one time when -"

"Oh, look what time it is, Ducky," Tim exclaimed, glancing at his watch. "And tomorrow is a workday."

"Yes, yes, it is. Goodnight, Anthony, Jethro. Thank you both for a lovely evening."

"Super, coolo lovely," Abby expanded, leaning over and placing a kiss on Tony's cheek. "You totally rock with those shoelaces."

Tony rubbed a hand over his cheek, scrubbing at the smudge of dark lipstick, but he grinned at her. He liked Abby a lot, even if she was a girl.

"See ya' soon, dude," she promised, tucking her arm through Ducky's and heading toward the driveway.

"It was very nice," Ziva agreed. "I enjoyed it very much."

"Me, too, Boss. Tony, we'll catch more fireflies next time."

"And then will let 'em fly away, like we did this time, right Tim?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. Catch 'em and set 'em free. That's the way you do it."

"G'night," Tony murmured, leaning into the arm that Gibbs had wrapped around him.

A soft whisper of goodnights echoed back, and then they were in their cars and rolling out of the driveway.

Gibbs pulled Tony back inside and closed the door, making sure to turn the deadbolt into place. He was protecting more than himself these days. He rubbed his hand over the back of Tony's head. "Did you have a good time, Buddy?"

"Yeah."

"You tired?"

"Um-um," Tony admitted. "Can I have another cookie?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "No. You had four, which was two too many already."

"Please," he begged softly, trying to steer in the direction of the kitchen.

"I said no," Gibbs reiterated, pushing him back toward the bedrooms. "It's time to get in your pajamas and brush your teeth and go to bed. Can I trust you to get ready while I go finish in the kitchen?"

He felt the shoulders under his arm shrug and Tony nodded. "Yeah, you can trust me, Boss."

"I know I can, Buddy. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Tony continued down the hall to his room, and Gibbs stopped off in the kitchen. He cleared the _Operation_ game from the table, started the dishwasher, and turned off the lights. By the time he reached Tony's bedroom, Tony had undressed and put on his pajama pants. He was in the process of pulling on the Spiderman t-shirt that he liked to sleep in. Gibbs reached down and picked up the discarded pair of jeans and polo shirt from where they lay strewn in the middle of the floor. He folded the jeans and put them on the chair in the corner. He dropped the polo shirt in the laundry basket in the closet.

"You can wear these same jeans to school tomorrow," he said, backing out of the closet. "And this shirt." He draped a white button-down shirt over the back of the chair.

"Okay, Boss," Tony agreed, heading down the hall to the master bedroom. Although there was a perfectly good bathroom across from his room, Tony insisted on keeping his toothbrush in Gibbs' bathroom. Once Gibbs had mentioned that fact to Ducky, only to earn a simple "The family that brushes together, stays together." Gibbs followed him to his bedroom and stripped out of his own clothes while Tony was brushing his teeth. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt then joined him at the bathroom sink.

"Scoot over," he said, bumping Tony with his hip as he reached for his own toothbrush.

Tony tried to grin around the Batman toothbrush that was in his mouth. He bumped him back. "You… scoo over," he mumbled.

"Don't talk and brush at the same time."

Tony pulled the brush from his mouth and spit in the sink. "You do."

"Do nah," Gibbs insisted even as he did.

"Do too," Tony shot back.

"Nah."

"Too."

"Nah."

"Too." And then he began to giggle and wouldn't stop until Gibbs put down his toothbrush and rinsed his mouth. He handed Tony a paper cup of water.

"Rinse and spit," he instructed. And Tony did.

"Bedtime." Gibbs pushed him back along the hallway to his room.

"Read."

"Not tonight. It's too late."

"Story."

Gibbs smiled. "A short one."

Tony pushed back the covers on his bed and climbed in. Gibbs pulled the sheet up over him, and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

"A story about what?" he asked.

And Tony turned over on his side, burrowing his head close to Gibbs' knee. "About Kelly," he whispered. "Kelly and the angels."

~vVv~


	4. Chapter 4

Ducky hadn't really asked, but it had been a question all the same, and he supposed the answer would have to be… yes. Did having Tony here, with him, now, make him think about Kelly? This had been Kelly's old room, although most of her things had long ago been given away. For so many years it had been a guest room, which in itself was ironic because Gibbs never had guests. Oh, he supposed he'd had some guests over the years - various in-laws and old friends of ex-wives. Even Tony had stayed over a couple of times before the accident when the heat went out in his old apartment building. Now Tony was a permanent guest, and the room was his, and it was beginning to take on his personality. This Tony liked comic books and cartoons, super heroes and Matchbox cars. There were Legos and board games and puzzles; books and DVDs lined the shelves. Stuffed animals filled a basket at the end of the bed. Really quite an accumulation of stuff in only four weeks, but his "family" tended to spoil him. Tim brought the comic books, Ziva the cars. Ducky supplied him with Lego sets, and Abby was a sucker for anything stuffed. She'd even given him Bert, the farting hippo. Tony slept with him.

And although there wasn't anything in that room now but Tony, the name on the boat in the basement had caused him to question. A few weeks ago, as Gibbs was sanding, Tony ran his fingers over the letters on the stern, making out each one, piecing them together and sounding out Kelly's name. When he asked, Gibbs couldn't lie to him, and so he'd told him the truth - simple truth that Tony could understand. Kelly and Shannon were with the angels like his parents were, and they were looking down on him, and keeping him safe. It was a truth that Gibbs liked to believe, and he shared it now with Tony.

Tony liked the stories about Kelly when she was a little girl. And Gibbs found that it didn't hurt so much to share those stories with him. It was better than remembering them alone.

Tonight, he made it a short story - not even a story really - just bits and pieces of a memory: Kelly and Maddie burying that time capsule in the backyard. Tony stayed awake long enough to murmur, "Super coolo," and then his eyes closed. In the faint light from the hall, Gibbs could see him relax into sleep, one hand on his knee, the other holding onto Bert.

He still couldn't watch him sleep without remembering the two weeks that he'd lain in a coma, only then he'd been hooked up to so many wires and tubes and monitors - the only things that let them know that he was still alive. He was so still, for so long, and Gibbs was afraid that he'd never wake up. Ducky reminded them all that coma patients had been known to hear the voices of those around them. So they talked to him. All of them. Every day. Almost a never-ending commentary. They came in shifts - he was never alone. Abby and Ducky had no difficulty at all keeping up running monologues. Ducky regaled him with classic tales of knights in shining armor, and Abby created fantasies filled with talking animals. Ziva summarized Tony's favorite movies and turned them into stories - adventure, mystery, romance, action. Even Jimmy came and recapped sporting events.

But it wasn't as easy for Tim and Gibbs. Oh, they came, probably more than all the rest, but they didn't have stories to tell Tony, at least, not at first. First they had to find some sort of peace with what had happened.

Tim was consumed with guilt. He'd walked away from the car, been able to call 911, and then all he could do was sit on the ground next to the crushed driver's side, talking to Tony, trying to keep him awake, watching his eyes slip closed - willing him to keep breathing. It wasn't his fault - Gibbs told him that - told him once with words and reminded him of it every day with a hard gaze. And Tim finally accepted it as the truth it was. Soon, he was reading comic books to Tony, even supplying the sound effects.

It was Ducky who gave the speech to Gibbs who was dealing with "my agents - my responsibility - my fault." But self-blame would do Tony very little good. "Terribly non-productive, Jethro," Ducky reasoned. "Surely there are better ways to spend your time with Anthony." And he was right, as usual. Gibbs pushed aside his own guilt, and he talked to Tony. Not a lot, at first - man of few words that he was he needed a little coaching. Ducky would sit with them, remind Gibbs of the many cases where Tony had proved himself. And Gibbs found himself saying the words that he rarely said - more than "good jobs" and "atta boys"- words like "you're a fine agent" and "I'm proud of you."

Words like… "I love you, Tony," Gibbs whispered, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Tony sighed in his sleep and pulled the hippo closer, soft grey ears brushing over his cheek. He said the hippo kept him safe when Boss wasn't there, and Gibbs smiled at the stuffed protector. "Semper fi, Bert. Semper fi."

~vVv~


	5. Chapter 5

"Ready, Boss."

The voice came from the kitchen doorway, and Gibbs set his coffee cup on the counter and turned around. Tony was indeed ready: clothes on, hair combed, and shoes tied. He'd managed to button the white shirt, but it wasn't tucked in, which was all right – it didn't have to be. Tony's days of wearing tucked-in button-downs with suits and ties were gone now. Gibbs knew he really didn't remember those days. Not much anyway. He'd taken him to work a few times, and Tony had looked around with innocent wonder – nothing seemed familiar, although he had paused next to his old desk for a few moments before being drawn away by Abby's invitation to her lab.

The main focus of his life now was the centre – physical therapy for his leg, occupational therapy for everyday self-help skills, and counseling for the confusion and frustration that he encountered – often on a daily basis. It wasn't easy relearning what he'd lost, and there was only so much that he could learn. But he was improving.

Gibbs grabbed the car keys from the table and headed toward the backdoor. "Let's roll, then," he smiled, giving Tony a high five as he went past him. "Don't forget to get your bag," he added, glancing toward the backpack in one of the kitchen chairs.

Tony stepped over and picked it up, opened the flap, and peered inside. "I don't need these," he announced flatly, frowning toward the kitchen door that Gibbs had just exited.

Gibbs stuck his head back in the doorway, saw that he was looking in the backpack, knew what he was referring to. "You might," he replied.

Tony shook his head emphatically. "No. I won't," he insisted.

And Gibbs sighed, walked back into the kitchen. "Tony, you know what Ducky says – better safe than sorry."

He shook his head again, and Gibbs watched as his fingers closed tightly around the backpack. "I don't need these," he repeated. There was a pleading note in his voice, and his lower lip trembled. "It's been a long time…"

It had been two weeks, but, for Tony, that was interminable.

Gibbs nodded. "I know, but… just in case…"

"No." His eyes were growing glassy with unshed tears.

"Tony…"

"No!" He reached inside the pack and pulled out a folded bundle of clothes, threw it on the table. "I don't want 'em." Then, dropping the backpack on the ground, he turned and ran out of the kitchen, his footsteps hard in the hallway, followed by the slam of his bedroom door.

With a frustrated sigh, Gibbs sank into a chair, reached out, and picked up the clothing: navy sweatpants and a pair of boxers. A change of clothes – just in case. And he'd needed them just two weeks ago. Gibbs remembered. It was a Friday, and he'd been late picking him up.

_Gibbs was out of breath by the time he reached the third floor waiting room. Liz met him at the door._

"_Lot of traffic," he explained, his eyes scanning the room and finding Tony lying on a sofa across from him. "Fell asleep?"_

_Liz nodded. "About fifteen minutes ago."_

"_Tears?"_

_She smiled softly. "A few." Gibbs winced, and Liz patted his shoulder. "He's all right, Jethro. Why don't we let him sleep for a little while? I think there's a fresh pot of coffee in the break room." Liz had already discovered Gibbs' penchant for coffee._

_He grinned. "Sounds good."_

"_I'll be right back."_

_Liz went down the hall, and Gibbs sank into a nearby chair. A part of him wanted to go check on Tony, but he didn't want to wake him. Instead, he contented himself with studying him from a distance. He looked fairly comfortable, on his side, knees drawn up to his stomach. His coat was scrunched up under his head, and he clutched his backpack to his chest. _

_A steaming cup of coffee appeared on the table in front of him, and Gibbs looked up at Liz. "Thanks."_

"_You're welcome." She sat down across from him. "He really is all right."_

"_I know, but…" There was something different about Tony, and he'd just figured out what it was. "Those aren't the same clothes he put on this morning."_

_Liz shrugged. "He had a little accident. But Joseph was here, and he helped him get cleaned up and changed."_

_Gibbs sighed. "How did he react?"_

"_I think he was a little disappointed with himself, embarrassed. He was quiet for a while afterwards, but then… Well, you know Tony, he likes to get involved, so he participated in the art project this afternoon. I think he's fine."_

_Gibbs nodded and moved over to the other side of the room. He knelt down by the sofa and ran his fingers through Tony's hair, gently fingering the lighter strands at his temples. "Tony?" he whispered. "Wake up."_

_Tony shifted on the sofa, groaned softly. _

_Gibbs gently shook his shoulder. "Wake up, Buddy. It's time to go home."_

_His eyes opened, and he blinked sleepily at him. "Hey, Boss." He let out a heavy breath and pushed up on one elbow. "You're late."_

_Gibbs smiled at the note of accusation in his voice. "Yeah. Sorry. Long day."_

_Tony stretched and yawned, rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Me, too."_

_Gibbs touched the back of Tony's neck, then leaned closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Let's go home," he said softly and felt him nod his head in agreement._

_~vVv~_

_Tony was quiet on the ride home. Usually he talked, describing every activity of his day, answering Gibbs' questions in minute detail, voice rising and falling with emotion, laughing at remembered jokes. His therapist encouraged this; the recall was good for his memory and sequencing. The more he talked, the more his skills improved._

_But he was silent now, head leaning against the window, eyes seemingly focused on the side of the road, gravel and scrub grass rushing by._

_Ten minutes passed, and they were half way home when Tony finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm not… a baby."_

_Gibbs glanced over at him. He had slumped further into his seat, eyes still staring out the window._

"_Of course, you're not," Gibbs reassured him, shifting his focus back to the road. When Tony didn't say anything else, Gibbs continued, "Did somebody say you were?" He knew none of the employees at the centre would say such a thing, but he couldn't be sure about the other patients._

"_No," Tony answered after several long moments, "but I… I can't…"_

"_Can't what, Tony?" Gibbs could hear the frustration in his voice. Sometimes he hated to make him talk, but his therapists said that it was better than the alternative. It wasn't a good idea to keep strong emotions bottled up inside for too long._

"_Can't… do things, and…" He drew in a ragged breath. "I… had… 'n accident."_

"_It's all right, Buddy," Gibbs assured him quickly, reaching over and touching his arm. "Remember what the doctor said. You don't have complete sensation on your right side and sometimes it's difficult to know when you have to go to the bathroom."_

"_I… try… Boss."_

_He didn't have to look to know that there were tears in Tony's eyes. _

"_I know you do. And think of all the things you can do. All the things you've had to relearn. How to read, and write, and dress, and-"_

"_Can't tie… shoes too good," Tony interrupted._

_And Gibbs smiled, knowing a small crisis was passing. "But you're working on it."_

"_Yeah," Tony breathed._

"_And you can tie them halfway."_

"_Can't make… loops," he sighed._

_Gibbs gave Tony's lower arm a reassuring squeeze. "Why don't we practice those loops when we get home?"_

"_Okay."_

~vVv~

And they'd practiced – over and over, loops and ears, and bunny rabbits going through holes – until finally Tony could do it on his own, leading to his performance last night for the team. But tying shoes was one thing and toileting accidents were quite another. Gibbs stared at the clothing on the table before him, wondering why today, of all days, Tony had reacted so strongly. Gibbs always put extra clothes in his backpack – even though he hadn't needed them in the past two weeks. But he knew that often there was no rhyme or reason to Tony's reactions – some days he just didn't notice things, and other days he did. Today was one of those days.

With another heavy sigh, Gibbs pushed himself up from the table and headed down the hall to Tony's room, taking the clothing with him. He tapped on the closed door. "Tony?"

He waited. There was no reply. He knocked again. "Hey, Buddy? Can I come in?"

Still, nothing. So he turned the knob and pushed the door open a bit, just enough to stick his head in. "Tony?"

He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, Bert the Hippo on his lap. Gibbs smiled. "Can I come in?" he repeated.

Tony nodded, so Gibbs crossed over and sat on the corner of the bed, setting the clothing beside him. "You don't have to take these if you don't want to."

But Tony nodded again, reaching out and touching the leg of the sweatpants. "No. Like Ducky says… better sorry than safe."

Gibbs wondered whether he should correct him or not, but Tony corrected himself.

"I mean… better safe than sorry."

Gibbs grinned and placed a hand on Tony's knee, gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It's just in case, Tony. You haven't needed them in a while – probably won't need them, but…"

Tony turned his face to Gibbs. "Just in case," he sighed.

And Gibbs nodded in agreement. "Just in case."

~vVv~


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! I want to thank eScapefreak for giving me the idea about new rules. It will be interesting to see which rules Tony and Gibbs create!

At first, it had been difficult going to work and focusing on the case at hand. For all of them, not thinking of Tony was almost insurmountable – he'd always been such a presence, and now that presence was so noticeably missing. It had gotten a little easier the past few weeks – necessity forced them to work through it – but still, Gibbs saw: the glances toward his desk, the hesitation whenever they geared up to leave, the uncomfortable silence in the elevator, the feeling that they'd left someone behind.

And they had.

They all felt it.

But they never acknowledged it.

At least, not to each other.

Gibbs watched as they found their way – each person dealing with it in his or her own unique fashion: Tim had started leaving his backpack on top of Tony's desk to make it seem less empty Gibbs assumed; Ziva turned on his computer every morning and powered it down at night before she left – even Gibbs had glanced over at Tony's screensaver on occasion: a collection of old movie posters of movies he no longer remembered; Abby wandered through the bullpen more often than she used to, fingers sliding over the back of Tony's chair – and she'd started leaving little notes to him that Gibbs took home and stuck on the bulletin board in Tony's room: _Have a cool day! Miss you! Lotsa love!_; Jimmy, like Abby, visited more often than he ever had before, delivering messages in person instead of phoning; and Ducky started eating lunch with Gibbs – every day – something they'd occasionally done, but not on a daily basis – Gibbs suspected that Ducky wanted to make sure he was eating – but if he admitted it, which he never did, he appreciated the company.

And Gibbs – he accepted it all: the backpack, the screensaver, the notes, the messages, the home-cooked meals from Ducky.

And just the other day, he'd head slapped McGee – which had caused Tim to gasp and then flinch and then smile.

Like it or not, they were slipping into a new routine, a new normal – and they'd started to relax a bit.

So when Gibbs saw Ducky heading toward him down the back hall later in the day, he assumed it was lunch time.

"I was just on my way," he nodded toward the other end of the hall and the break room.

But Ducky shook his head. "I'm afraid our lunch will have to wait. The centre just called. Tony's had a fall and broken his arm. They've driven him to the hospital, and we'll need to go get him. " He said it so smoothly as if Tony were Humpty Dumpty and they were all the king's horses and men, riding in to pick up the pieces.

"He what?!" Gibbs' voice rose, and Tim, who'd been walking with him, instinctively took a step back. "How does someone break an arm at a rehabilitation facility? They're supposed to be fixing Tony – not breaking him." _He's already broken enough._ "Is he all right?"

"He'll be fine," Ducky assured, stepping closer and resting a hand on Gibbs' arm. "It's just a simple fracture. They have an obstacle course at the centre and Tony fell off the monkey bars."

Gibbs sighed. "Which one?"

Ducky looked confused. "Which monkey bar?"

This earned him an exhaustive roll of Gibbs' eyes. "No, which arm? Tell me it wasn't his right one."

Ducky nodded in understanding. "Oh, no, it was his left. So he can still work on his writing."

"Thank goodness it wasn't any worse," Tim sighed, glancing at Ducky then back to Gibbs. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No," Gibbs answered succinctly, turning back down the hall in the direction of the elevator. "Tell Ziva and Abby." He stopped, looked back over his shoulder, gave Tim a meaningful glare. "Assure them he'll be all right." He nodded toward Ducky. "We'll go get jungle boy."

Tim smiled at his retreating form. "Don't yell at them, Boss. You might frighten Tony." He glanced at Ducky again. "He'll be all right?"

"Oh, Tony will be fine. But I'm not so sure about Jethro."

"You comin', Duck?" Gibbs called back to him as he rounded the corner.

"Right behind you," he sighed and hurried to catch up.

~vVv~

The expression on Tony's face brightened as soon as he saw Gibbs. Although tears still clung to his eyelashes, he smiled, raising his arm in the air.

"I broke it!" he exclaimed, waving the cast like a flag captured in battle.

"I see that." There was no missing the bright neon green cast. "Did you pick the color?" Gibbs crossed to where Tony was sitting on the edge of the examining table, his legs swinging from the side.

"Uh-huh." He rubbed the fingers of his right hand over the cast on his left arm. "There was blue, and red, and pink, and purple, and green, and white, but I liked green, and the doctor said I could have green, and I picked it." All of this was said in one breath.

And Gibbs relaxed. This wasn't a crisis; it was a hiccup, an adventure in Tony's eyes.

"Good. Green is good." He reached out and pulled Tony's head to his shoulder, giving him a hug and ruffling the back of his hair.

"Uh-huh," Tony continued, not missing a beat. "Jenny likes green. And the…the nurse…she said my eyes were green."

Gibbs stepped back. "Well, your eyes are green, but not quite so bright…" Then the words registered. "Jenny likes green?"

"Uh-huh," Tony nodded. "She was here, and she said…she liked green."

Gibbs blinked. "Jenny was here?"

"I still am." The voice came from behind him, and Gibbs swung around to find Jenny Shepard in the doorway, Ducky behind her. "I was visiting Tony when he fell."

"Off the monkey bars," Tony added, then held his arm out. "Look, Ducky, I gotta cast."

The medical examiner stepped over to him, and Ducky took Tony's arm, carefully inspecting the fingers that stuck out of the end of the cast. "You did indeed. Does it hurt?"

Tony shrugged. "A little. But… I tried not to cry."

Gibbs, whose eyes were still on Jenny, called back to him. "Rule Eight, Tony: If it hurts, it's all right to cry."

Jenny moved closer, a puzzled expression on her face. "I thought Rule Eight was 'Never take anything for granted,'" she said softly.

Gibbs shifted his gaze to Tony, his eyes filled with love and concern. "It still is – in the old rules." He sighed and looked back at Jenny, gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "New life – new rules."

And she nodded in understanding.

Gibbs turned his attention to Tony again. "So, you were showing off for Jenny and fell?" He smiled, and Tony knew he was teasing with him.

Still, he blushed. "I was just showin' her how to do the monkey bars."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Jenny. "And were you going to join him?"

And Jenny played along. "I was thinking about it." She pressed her lips into a thin line. "Even directors like to have a little fun now and then."

"I suppose it beats those rubber chicken dinners," he mumbled in return, then looked toward Ducky. "So, Duck, how is he?"

Ducky lowered Tony's arm and nodded. "Simple fracture. And they've done a good job with this cast. He should be fine in about six or seven weeks."

Gibbs shook his head. "It's going to curtail your firefly catching," he sighed, touching his fingers to Tony's cheek.

And Jenny smiled. It was rare to see and hear such tenderness in Gibbs. But it was there. Every time he looked at Tony.

~vVv~


	7. Chapter 7

It was a good idea Ducky decided as his eyes traveled around the den and kitchen area of Jenny Shepard's home. NCIS and FBI personnel mixed and mingled, conversations and laughter filled the large room. He sat next to Leon Vance on the sofa and he could tell that the assistant director was thinking the same thing.

"It was nice of Jenny to invite us all over," Ducky said. "And unbelievable that she's actually letting Gibbs cook in her kitchen."

Vance laughed. "I questioned that one myself." He looked over at Tobias Fornell. "Aren't you a cook?"

Fornell shook his head and waved his beer bottle in front of him in denial. "I grill… outside on decks and porches… over open fires." He nodded towards the medical examiner. "Ducky's the chef."

Vance smiled. "Doctor Mallard, perhaps you'd like to help Agent Gibbs."

"Oh, no," Ducky replied quickly. "I wouldn't want to come between Jethro and Jenny. I think this is a good… bonding moment for them. Besides, I'm just enjoying watching them tap dance around each other."

Vance sighed. "They do tend to do a lot of that, don't they? Should we worry about them hurting each other?"

"Oh, I don't think so," Ducky answered. "At least, not tonight. Too many witnesses."

Gibbs' voice rose above the din of conversation. "No, damn it, Jenny! You have to let it simmer."

Fornell took a long swig from his beer bottle. "Of course, there's always tomorrow… empty interrogation room… dark corner of MTAC." He winced. "Could be director before you know it, Leon."

Vance shook his head. "Not how I want to inherit the position, Tobias."

"What part of simmer do you not understand?!" Gibbs' exclaimed.

"Of course, I'll accept the position if it's offered," Vance laughed. "And I'll keep an eye on empty interrogation rooms and dark corners."

"I do that already," Ducky supplied. "I find a periodic tour of the workplace to be assuring at times. All dead bodies should remain in my morgue." He smiled and glanced toward the kitchen table where Tony sat with Tim McGee and Ron Sacks. "What are Tim and Agent Sacks doing?"

"I think they're coloring," Fornell answered. "Airplanes the last time I looked." He leaned toward Ducky. "I told you Sacks had a soft side. DiNozzo's injury has… affected us all, Ducky."

He locked his gaze with Fornell's for a moment. "It's nice to know some good things have come from it." And then he glanced back over at Tony.

He was sitting between Tim and Sacks, his casted left arm cradled in his lap. It had been a little over a week since his fall, and, except for tying shoes and catching fireflies, the arm hadn't slowed him down much at all. At the moment, he was listening and watching, his gaze shifting from one person to another, but always returning to Gibbs every few seconds as if to reassure himself of his Boss's presence, his anchor in a safe harbor.

Gibbs stood in the middle of the kitchen, a white chef's apron wrapped around his waist, the words "Kiss the Cook" emblazoned across his chest. There was a trace of lipstick on one cheek from Abby's kiss, and another trace high on his forehead, courtesy of Jenny.

"Ha, ha, very funny," he'd groused earlier when the two women had kissed him, a blush spreading across his face, the edges of his ears turning pink.

Then Ziva and McGee had playfully planted kisses on either cheek, and Tony had laughed while Gibbs pushed the pair of them away.

"Not you, too," Gibbs sighed, but then winked at Tony to let him know that he was just kidding. And Tony understood. The communication between the two men was silent at times.

At the moment, Gibbs was standing in front of an open cabinet, hands on hips, eyes carefully scanning the contents of Jenny's shelves. He looked like a man on a mission. Already the ingredients for his Five Alarm Texas Chili were spread out on the counter, and now all he was missing was the last important one. Without it, the chili would just be wet, ground meat. He sighed and snapped his fingers.

"What?" Jenny gave him an exasperated roll of her eyes. Why she thought this would be a good idea was beyond her now.

"Tabasco sauce," Gibbs stated. "Don't you have any?"

"Look, Jethro, I offered up my kitchen. You were supposed to bring the supplies."

"I know. But it seems I've…"

"What?" she repeated.

Gibbs frowned. "I've overlooked the most important ingredient." He lowered his eyes as if admitting culinary defeat. "I was hoping you might have some Tabasco sauce."

Jenny shook her head. "Not that I know of. Remember, I don't cook. And Noemi's gone home for the evening. Besides, according to you, most of my meals are rubber chicken dinners. Why would I need Tabasco sauce?"

Gibbs looked up and held her gaze for a moment, and then, uncharacteristically, he conceded. "Point taken," he admitted as he reached behind him and began to untie his apron. "All right. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

Jenny rolled her eyes again. "You don't have to go to the store for Tabasco sauce. You can make chili without it."

He stared at her as if she'd spoken the unspeakable and grown two heads at the same time. "It's Five Alarm Texas Chili. Without the Tabasco, there are no alarms. Of course, being only a connoisseur of rubber chicken dinners I can understand your ignorance of the finer nuances of TexMex cooking."

Jenny had long since learned to let most of what he said go right by her. "But it's still chili, Jethro, and it's still edible."

But Gibbs was shaking his head and removing the apron.

"Something wrong?" Ziva looked over from the where she was sitting at the bar, having been talking to Jimmy Palmer about the nuances of English idioms. "Are you… throwing in the…" She glanced at Jimmy.

"Towel," he supplied.

"…throwing in the towel, Boss?"

"No, no. Just heading to the store for Tabasco sauce." He pulled his jacket off the stool at the end of the bar.

Tony, whose attention had strayed back to the crayons and drawing paper, looked up, sensing that Gibbs was going somewhere.

"Boss?" he questioned.

"I'm going to the grocery store. I won't be long. You stay here."

The look on Tony's face immediately clouded over, and he pushed back from the table. "I wanna go with you."

"No, you're fine." He cast a glance over his shoulder. "Ducky and Abby are here."

And at that moment, Abby appeared, having seen Gibbs getting ready to leave. "Everything all right?"

"Fine. Just going to get something from the store."

Jenny leaned over the bar. "He says we can't eat the chili without Tabasco sauce."

Abby grinned. "Boss-man, I never knew you were such a perfectionist in the kitchen. I mean, you are at work - which is a good thing, don't get me wrong. But in the kitchen?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively. "Are you a perfectionist in other places as well?"

Jenny leaned closer. "No," she said with a self-satisfied smirk that only seemed to get smirkier when she saw the blush tingeing Gibbs' cheeks again.

"If the Boss-man wants Tobasco, the Boss-man will get Tobasco," Abby decreed. "Just don't take long because I'm hungry. You know, little voice…" She moved the fingers of her left hand up and down in a talking gesture. "Stomach…" Her right hand mimicked the motion of her left.

"Wasn't planning on taking a long time, Abbs," Gibbs promised, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"I wanna go," Tony demanded.

"All right," Gibbs agreed, knowing that he wouldn't get out the door without him. He pulled the car keys from his pocket. "I just hope we're not blocked in."

"Hurry up, Gibbs, we're hungry," Fornell called from across the room.

"Oh, yes, Tobias, because you've been working so hard lifting that bottle. Is that number four or five?"

"Lost count."

"Kinda like our ex-wives, huh?" Gibbs shot back.

"Why do you think I drink in the first place?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Come on, Tony_, Uncle_ Tobias is a very bad influence." He placed a hand on Tony's shoulder and steered him toward the back door.

"Just Tabasco sauce, Jethro," Jenny called from the kitchen, staring at the food spread across the counters. There was enough to feed all of NCIS, the FBI, and the rest of the damn alphabet. There was even a three layer chocolate sheet cake in the refrigerator.

"Maybe ice cream," Gibbs suggested, pushing the back door open and winking at Tony.

"We have vanilla," Jenny reminded him.

"But we don't have chocolate," he reasoned.

Abby looked back at the spread of food in the kitchen, her eyes growing large and round at the feast spread before her. "I think the director's right. As good as the frozen stuff is, we don't need any more food."

"Ah, but ice cream is ice cream. Right, Tony?" And Gibbs was out the door with Tony tagging behind him.

"We don't need ice cream!" Jenny and Abby chorused.

~vVv~


	8. Chapter 8

He heard voices, and then he heard the sound of someone crying, and then nothing for what seemed like a long time. And then voices again. And sirens: in the distance - up close. Someone calling his name. And Gibbs opened his eyes. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, each breath labored and shallow, and he knew where he was and what had happened.

"Tony..." he groaned, instinctively trying to move toward the passenger side of the car. He tried to focus his eyes.

"Agent Gibbs." A deeper voice than Tony's from somewhere to his left, outside the car. "Stay calm. We've got Tony. He's all right. And you're going to be all right. It's just going to take a little longer to get you out."

Gibbs tried to move, then felt a hand on his shoulder. "Agent Gibbs, we need you to stay still." The voice again.

Gibbs cut his eyes to his left, but all he could make out were indistinct shapes moving outside the car, flashing lights through the shattered windshield. He felt something warm on his forehead and realized that it must be blood. He closed his eyes.

"Agent Gibbs." The hand moved, firm pressure on his forehead. "Stay with me. My name is Ryan. I'm an EMT. We'll have you out of here in just a few minutes."

Heavy eyes blinked open again. "Tony?"

"He's fine." Ryan's voice remained steady and reassuring. "He's already on his way to the hospital. Just a few bumps and bruises to go along with that broken arm."

Despite the pain shooting up his legs and lower back, and the blood now dripping closer to his eyes, Gibbs managed a smile. Tony and that damned cast. The fluorescent glow alone must have been a beacon in the night for the rescue team.

Something damp touched his forehead, gauze dabbing at the blood, halting its flow to his eyes.

"Just hold on," the EMT said firmly. "Stay with me."

And Gibbs wanted to – tried to keep his eyes open – but he couldn't. The last thing he saw was the fracture of flashing lights, and then his eyes slid closed, and the sound and the pain faded into unconsciousness.

~vVv~

Tony was lying on his side, facing away from the door, his knees drawn up to his chest. Jenny didn't want to startle him, so she walked quietly into the room and around the end of the bed. He was sleeping, the bright green cast pushed up on the pillow, close to his head. He hadn't been asleep for long. She could tell, for as she drew closer she could see tears clinging to the ends of his long eyelashes; it wasn't the first time he'd cried himself to sleep. She didn't want to wake him, and yet she knew he would want to see her. And she wanted to reassure him before the nightmares came.

Gently, she touched his right shoulder, rubbed her hand along his arm. He stirred. She moved her hand up, her fingers brushing strands of his hair back from his forehead. She frowned at the bruise above his left eyebrow and the jagged cut along his hairline. Six stitches. Only six stitches. No concussion, no more brain damage. He'd actually been very lucky.

She touched his arm again, shook him carefully. "Tony... Tony, wake up."

He shifted and groaned, eyes fluttering.

"Tony? It's me, Jenny. You're all right."

His eyes snapped open, and he blinked, confusion and tears quickly filling the green depths.

"Tony." Jenny touched his cheek. "I'm here."

"Jenny?" he breathed, a sob catching in his throat.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, and he pushed himself up into her embrace, long arms and legs unfolding and then refolding around her, halfway on her lap.

"Shh," she whispered, rocking him gently, cradling his head on her shoulder, her fingers stroking the fevered skin at his temple. "Shh, Tony."

"I don't want…ice cream...don't want any," he mumbled, his face pressed to her chest. "Don't want ice cream."

"Tony, it's all right."

"B...Boss...gonna…get ice cream." She felt his head shaking. "Don't want any. I...I want Boss. Where's Boss?"

"He's going to be all right. The doctors are taking good care of him. And Ducky's with him."

Tony's crying intensified, tears of frustration and relief. And she rubbed his back, her hand reaching through the partially open gown, fingertips on skin; she murmured soothing words into his ear. Long moments passed and gradually the tears subsided and he relaxed against her.

He drew in a shaking breath and let it out. "I don't want ice cream."

Jenny closed her eyes and tightened her arms around him. She knew what he was thinking. As Tony always did, he was taking the blame, thinking that the fact that he'd wanted ice cream had been the reason for the accident.

"Tony, it wasn't your fault. It wasn't because you and Jethro were going to get ice cream."

He sniffled against her shirt. "Boss said...we'd get ice cream. But...I don't want it."

She felt his shoulders trembling as he began to cry again, his tears hot and wet against her chest. She stroked her hand through his hair; it was still damp from where they'd sponged away the blood.

"Tony, Jethro is going to be just fine. And so are you. I promise."

He swallowed convulsively, drawing in another shaking breath. "You...mad...said no ice cream."

"Oh, no... No, Tony, I'm not mad." She held him tighter. "I knew Jethro was planning on getting ice cream. I was teasing with him before you left."

Tony pulled away slightly, staring up at Jenny. She brushed at the tears beneath his eyes with her fingers.

"I love you, Tony. And I love Jethro. And everything's all right."

Tony was silent for a moment. She could tell he was thinking, his mouth twisting with unspoken words.

She drew her hand along his cheek. "Tony?"

"You...love me?"

And she smiled, pulling him closer, kissing his forehead. "Oh, yes, I love you, Tony. Very much."

Another deep sigh relaxed his body again, and the muscle and bone beneath her hands seemed to grow softer.

"Love you," he murmured and closed his eyes.

And she rocked him until he fell asleep against her shoulder.

~vVv~


	9. Chapter 9

He blinked and then swallowed. His eyes felt scratchy, and his mouth was cotton. He licked his lips and coughed. There was movement to the right of him.

"Jethro?" A cool hand touched his forehead.

He turned toward the voice. _Ducky._

"Tony?" he whispered.

"He's all right. Just a bump on the head. And you're going to be all right, too." Ducky reached over and took a cup of water from the bedside table, held it to his lips. Gibbs sipped at the liquid thirstily.

"Easy." Ducky drew the cup away. "Not too much."

Gibbs sighed and let his head settle back on the pillow. He tried to analyze his condition. There was an IV in his right arm, and, apparently, they were giving him the good stuff because, other than a dry mouth and scratchy eyes, he was feeling very little pain. He could tell that his right leg was immobilized, and it was numb. He reached his left hand up to his forehead and felt a bandage there.

"How bad?" he asked with a groan. It wasn't painful yet, just damned inconvenient.

Ducky rubbed his shoulder. "Your right leg is broken in several places, just below the knee, just above it, and below the hip. They had to put a pin in the bone below your hip, so no more going through metal detectors without an explanation. There's a fiberglass brace on it, and you have your fair share of stitches."

"How long?"

"Complete bed rest for four to five weeks, then intensive physical therapy."

"And?" Gibbs prompted. There was something Ducky wasn't saying –something that had put him here, in ICU, and not in a regular ward.

"And then we'll see."

"See what?"

Ducky hesitated.

"Duck?"

"It's going to take a while to get you back on your feet, Jethro. Right now, there's some swelling around the base of your spine. We can't rush it."

"But I'll be able to walk again, right?" There was an edge in his voice.

"The doctors think so. It's just… It's not going to be easy." Ducky squeezed his shoulder. "But we'll get you there."

Gibbs groaned again, not wanting to push too deeply – not sure he wanted all the details yet. "And my head?" It was easier to deal with the basics for right now.

"No stitches. Just a cut."

Gibbs closed his eyes and sighed. "And Tony's all right?" The basics and Tony – all he could handle.

"He's fine," Ducky assured him again. "Jenny's with him. And I was down there a little while ago. He's a little frightened, and he's worried about you. But he'll be fine." Ducky pulled a chair over and sat down next to the bed. "Jethro, the police say it looks like your front tire blew."

He nodded and opened his eyes. "That was it… and the rain… I tried…"

Ducky touched his shoulder again. "I know you did… It was an accident. We're just so relieved that you're both going to be all right."

"So much for chili," Gibbs muttered.

And Ducky laughed slightly. "In a little while, I think they're going to bring you some Jell-O."

Gibbs sighed. "Not Tobasco sauce? Or ice cream?"

Ducky's smile faded.

"What?" Gibbs questioned, concern tingeing his voice.

"When you see Tony, don't mention ice cream. He's feeling a bit guilty about the trip to the grocery store. He thinks it's his fault because he wanted ice cream."

"Damn, Ducky, it was a joke," Gibbs exploded.

"I know," Ducky sighed. "But he wanted it, and for Tony, there's a direct correlation between wanting ice cream and-"

"Slamming your car into a tree," Gibbs interrupted, finishing the doctor's sentence.

"Well, I wasn't going to use the word _slam, _but yes, that's the way he's looking at it."

Gibbs started to sit up. "I've got to talk to him."

"Jethro." Ducky's hand pressed firmly against his shoulder. "You're not going anywhere right now. You're not even sitting up. Understand?" He waited for Gibbs to nod and relax back into the mattress; then he continued. "We'll bring Tony up to see you. Maybe tomorrow, okay?"

Gibbs released an exhaustive sigh and settled his head further into the pillow. "All right. Just… tell him it's not his fault, will ya'?"

Ducky smiled. "I'll deliver the message myself." He smoothed a hand over Gibbs' forehead, careful of the bandage. "Now, get some rest. Doctor's orders."

"Like I've ever listened to those," Gibbs groused, but let his eyes fall closed nonetheless.

Ducky just smiled and sat with him until he fell asleep.

~vVv~


	10. Chapter 10

Tony sat on the edge of the bed, his legs hanging, feet swinging back and forth, heels hitting the side with a steady thump. Ducky stood in front of him, patiently buttoning his shirt.

Tony looked down at the doctor's fingers as they closed one button then the next. "I used to be able to do 'em myself," he sighed, "before I broke my arm." He shifted his eyes down to his casted left arm, a hint of resentment in his gaze.

"I know you could, Anthony," Ducky assured him, "but it's all right to get a little help now."

Tony looked back up into the older man's kind blue eyes. "Boss needs help now…doesn't he?"

Ducky finished the last button and took a step back, rested his hand on Tony's knee. "Yes, he's going to need a lot of help for a while."

Tony tightened his lips, biting gently on the lower one, then took a deep breath. "I can help him."

Ducky nodded. "I was counting on that, but…" he hesitated for a moment.

"What, Duck?" Tony questioned.

And the medical examiner smiled at the shortened version of his nickname. _Just like Jethro_, he thought, tightening his hand on Tony's knee. "It's just that… Well, you know Boss doesn't always accept help very well."

Tony's eyes squinted in confusion. "But if he needs help," he reasoned, "then we'll help him."

Ducky sighed, hoping it would be that easy, but suspecting that it wouldn't. Still, he agreed. "Of course, we will. All of us." He moved his hand to Tony's shoulder, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "Are you ready to go see him?"

Tony was off the side of the bed and at the door in an instant, pushing it open and stepping into the hall. And Ducky laughed softly. "I'll take that as a yes," he observed, picking up Tony's jacket and following him.

~vVv~

At some point in the elevator, between the third floor and the fifth, Tony had reached out and taken hold of Ducky's hand. And now, Ducky felt the hand around his fingers tighten as they came into view of the ICU window that looked in on Gibbs' room. There was a man sitting beside Gibbs' bed, and Tony drew in a deep breath.

"That's Boss's boss," he murmured.

Ducky knew that the man was Jackson Gibbs. After all, he was the one who had called him and told him about Jethro's accident.

"Yes, I suppose that is Boss's boss."

"But Boss calls him Jack," Tony continued. "Sometimes he calls him Dad, but mostly just Jack. He's gotta picture of him in his room." He turned and looked at Ducky. "I call him Jackson. That's his real name."

Ducky just nodded, suspecting that Tony had also perfected the spelling and writing of that name as well. And then, taking a firmer grasp on Tony's hand, he led him over to the open door of the ICU room.

Gibbs looked up from his father, a soft expression immediately replacing the strain on his face. "Hey, Buddy."

Instead of going to him, Ducky felt Tony pull back slightly, unsure of the room and the monitoring equipment that was attached to Gibbs. He gave the younger man a gentle push. "It's all right, Anthony. You can go to him."

Jackson got up from his chair, smiling at Tony. "Come on in, son," he encouraged, taking a step back, clearing the path from the door to the side of the bed.

Still, he hesitated, swallowing, looking down at the floor, then back up. "Boss?"

"Come here, Tony." Gibbs held out an arm, and Tony went to him then, let his Boss pull him into a one-armed hug. He buried his head in Gibbs' shoulder, and the tears came, unbidden and unchecked, dripping down his cheeks, soaking into the cloth of Gibbs' gown. "Shh," Gibbs hushed, his hand rubbing Tony's back. "Everything's all right."

Tony mumbled into his shoulder, the words hoarse and muffled, but unmistakable. "Don't want…ice cream."

"Ah, Buddy," Gibbs sighed, glancing at his father and Ducky over Tony's bent form. "This isn't your fault." His voice hardened a bit. "Do you hear me? This isn't your fault," he repeated.

And Tony pulled back slightly, enough to where he could look into Gibbs' face. Hastily, he rubbed a fist over his eyes, scrubbing at the tears. "But…but…I wanted ice cream, and…if we didn't go to the store, then…"

"Hey," Gibbs touched his own fingers to Tony's cheeks, wiping away the wetness. "I wanted Tobasco sauce, remember?"

Tony swallowed and nodded.

"It was an accident," Gibbs continued. "Just an accident. Nobody's fault."

But even from across the room, Ducky could see in his eyes the words he didn't say. _Nobody's fault – but mine._

~vVv~


End file.
